Experiment Gone Wrong
by aaquater
Summary: Long ago, there used to be a time when Umbridge didn't hate all half-breeds...


_I don't own HP._

* * *

Dolores was terrified when she entered the Hogwarts express for the first time. There were supposed to be Muggleborns on the train!

How dare they, boarding the same train, attending the same school, as though they were equal! But how could they ever be? Dumbledore really was as insane as her dad had told her.

She was turning her head in every direction, trying to spot one, but it wasn't so easy. The creatures looked just like usual wizards. It was unnatural.

Who could blame her for being suspicious? One of them could jump at her at any minute. She had every right to be cautious. She didn't know what kind of things they'd be capable of. For all she knew, their impure touch was toxic and their breath poisonous.

Sure, her mother and Phil, the thing she had to call her brother, weren't any of those. But they were ordinary, stupid Muggles. Nothing special about them. Muggleborns... they were like an experiment gone wrong. Magic in a container clearly unsuitable to hold it. A dangerous, unstable combination if she'd ever heard one.

She got into an argument about this with a boy she met in the alley. At first, she thought he was offended by her question – rather insensitive, she had to admit – because he was a fellow Pureblood. Then, she realised it was because he was one of those brainwashed, thinking Muggleborns should be protected. Worshipped, maybe. If she had the power, she'd imprison everybody who was spreading those lies.

The argument was getting intense, and the boy looked like he wasn't above cursing her. She was scared, and in her fear she kept saying truths that angered the boy even more. But when it looked like the worst was about to come,_ he_ arrived.

He was a fellow firstie, but taller than both her and the boy, and he scared the Muggleborn protector away. Then, he looked at her and she was smitten.

Maybe it was his hair, silvery white like the finest jewellery, maybe his eyes, blue, deep and intense, as though he could see through everything, including her. She felt even smaller than she really was.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

She could only nod, her throat too tight to speak.

"I'm Fenrir, by the way," he said, extending his hand towards her. "But you can call me Fen."

"D-Dol-" she stammered, shaking the offered hand.

"Doll? Is that your name?"

"Dolores," she finally managed to say. "But Doll is fine."

"I can see why." He sounded amused.

She looked down, at her pink clothes, the bow in her hair, together with her little figure, and flushed. She really did resemble a doll.

"I'm sorry if I have offended you; my words held no ill meaning," he was quick to say. His words were polished, hinting at his upbringing and social status, but they still held something fierce in the back, and Dolores found herself drinking in his every word.

"You don't have to apologise, it's alright." Dolores tried to smile. It was strangely difficult to keep her expression in a friendly smile.

For a while, they were standing in the alley, blocking it, until Fenrir's eyes fell on the trunk Dolores still had her left hand on. "Oh, you haven't found a compartment yet? I'm alone in mine; you can go there if you want."

Dolores nodded eagerly. Fenrir was leading the way, she tagging behind him, so he couldn't see the way her eyes were shining.

* * *

He was sorted in Slytherin, and so was she. Their friendship was growing quickly, and so even though there were other girls in the Slytherin dormitories, it was Fenrir she sat next to during classes, at meals, in the common room when they had free time. They helped each other with schoolwork; she was good at History and Astronomy, he excelled at Potions and DADA, and he also helped her overcome her fear of flying when those lessons started. He made her laugh, he could make her blush, but mostly, he made her feel safe.

He was big, for one thing. Strong, intimidating, his fist was something to be afraid of. But he was also protective of her, whenever she opened her mouth to the wrong person. And those accidents were getting rarer and rarer, Slytherin shaping her to be someone who could figure out the safe way to talk to people. Guess what she could afford to say to whom and what was crossing the line. Subtlety and cunning, those were the Slythering traits.

Over a couple of months, Fenrir's presence had become so normal, she was startled when it was the time for the two to separate at the start of the Winter Holidays. But they wrote to each other and traded silly, cheap trinkets they figured the other would like. In January, it was easy to pick up where they'd left off.

Fenrir was an easy person to talk to. They didn't have too much in common, but what interested one, the other became interested in and vice-versa. Their views were similar and they could spend hours just discussing, speculating, and laughing in the end when they finished a circle and ended up right where they'd begun. More and more, Dolores could feel herself falling for the blonde.

She was afraid to tell him, though. She'd scare him away for sure. No, it was better to keep their relationship as friendly; the safe waters that kept both of them happy. Even though at the bottom of her heart, Dolores was wishing they could become something more.

* * *

They didn't see each other the whole summer before their third year. He'd been travelling, and when he was telling her all he'd seen, she wished she could've gone with him. It had been a family holiday, though, he said, and Dolores had had programme of her own. But the pictures he showed her on the train made her envious.

That wasn't the only thing. Fenrir had changed over the holidays. Not only physically, even though she appreciated how his features had become more prominent, sharper, rougher, more aristocratic. His attitude seemed to have gone through the same change. It was not an immediate process, though the founding had definitely been laid over the summer.

He seemed more on edge, somehow. His protective attitude towards her hadn't changed, but its way had. He'd become more brutal, ruthless, most of the time only stopping when she asked him to. On one hand, she felt flattered, and sometimes she even thought that might be because he felt something for her, too. On the other hand, she didn't want him getting in trouble because of an overreaction over something unimportant, and so she was trying to hold him back when it was getting dangerous.

The change fit him, though. Yes, the polite Fenrir had been nice, but this... he'd become a bad boy, though still hidden behind a polished shield, and she couldn't deny her attraction to him. Sometimes, she even tried dropping him small hints to what she was feeling, but he seemed to remain oblivious. It was frustrating.

"Fenrir?"

"Hm?" He looked up from where he was picking his nails with a pocket knife. She had tried to make him stop it, saying he wasn't going to prove anything to anyone that way, especially after he'd cut himself one time. He hadn't listened, which had infuriated her. It had led to their first argument.

"You're doing it again?" She rolled her eyes, but didn't push it anymore. "Anyway, I wanted to ask you something."

Fenrir progressed from his index to his middle finger. "Well, go on."

Dolores took a deep breath, finding it hard to speak when he seemed to be paying more attention to the dirt under his nails than to her. "Have you ever thought about the future? Like, when do you want to start a family and such?"

"No. Father said I cannot court a girl before both she and I are fifteen. No use thinking about it sooner."

The way he said it, it was so definite, Dolores didn't pressure him further. She imprinted his words into her mind. She was the younger of the two, so she told herself she'd ask again after her fifteenth birthday. Until then, she'd try to enjoy the friendship of the blue-eyed boy, and not go crazy.

* * *

Fifth year began shortly after her fifteenth birthday, and she didn't have to wait. In the first week, Fenrir asked her the question and she all but jumped at him in enthusiasm. Since then, fifth year was amazing. She felt on top of the world; nothing could touch her as long as she was with Fenrir.

He, for that part, had become even more protective, fiercer, but this time it flattered her instead of the occasional scare she'd had in her earlier years. Muggleborns avoided her in a wide berth, as did most other people whenever she was with Fenrir. He had grown into quite a tall young man, muscular and broad-shouldered, and while she hadn't gained much in terms of height, she still wasn't the same girl she had been four years before.

Fenrir was a respectful boyfriend, he only went as far as she allowed him – or, better said, as far as he allowed himself to go. She was his Doll and he was her Fen, and Fen would do everything to make sure his Doll was alright. But even when they were kissing, his temper flared and he could be as tender as he was fierce. She could feel his emotions bubbling inside of him; emotions concerning her, him, everything. He was holding back, and everything he couldn't, he poured into her. Those times, she felt like she was about to burst. It was an amazing feeling, but almost unbearable.

* * *

It was a long time before she found out what exactly had happened during that Easter in their sixth year. But the first thing was clear; it had been something huge. And horrible.

It was a whole different Fenrir who came to school after the holidays, and not only because he refused to wear short-sleeved shirts. He was like another person in old Fenrir's body. He was snappy, he spent much time brooding, talking with him was impossible. Dolores was at her wits' end.

They argued. Over nothing, and often they couldn't even remember what had been the trigger for the argument, just that they were screaming. Fenrir could yell himself hoarse and the look in his eyes was so wild, Dolores had become scared of him. He was unpredictable, aggressive, always looking for a fight, some way to be the winner, to be better than someone. She could find him punching walls, kicking stones, slamming doors. She knew he wasn't sleeping well, as his eyes were constantly rimmed red and sometimes, he had this unfocused look when she knew he was sleeping with his eyes open, he was so tired. She was unable to bring up the topic with him, though, for it always led to screaming. She was sick of it.

"Listen, Fenrir," she started one May evening after another of their fights.

"What?" he snapped and she flinched. She had been trying to tell herself that he'd never hurt her, that he was still her Fen, but sometimes... she wasn't sure anymore.

"Don't talk to me like this and get a hold of yourself!" She folded her arms. "I can't go on like this, not knowing what I can expect from you, so either you compose yourself and get back to the guy you used to be, or-"

"Or what?" His voice was sharp like his trusty pocket knife, but somehow more terrifying. "Are you ditching me?"

"I'm ditching the thing you've become. I want the old you back."

"But I am still me! What's different?!"

"This!" She gestured wildly at the both of them, faces flushed, bodies in a fighting position. "Whatever happened this Easter, whatever problem you have, you have to get over it!"

"I don't have a problem!" Fenrir's shout echoed through the room. "I'm alright!"

"Liar!" Dolores spat.

Fenrir's fists nearly broke through the stone walls. "_Fine!_ Kick me out, just like everyone else! I spread plague, don't I, now that I'm a werewolf!"

Fenrir stormed out, the door swinging on its hinges long after. Dolores was standing there for a long time, petrified, feeling as though her world had been slammed off its orbit by a Beater's bat and cracked on the impact. How... how could that have happened?

"Fen," she whispered, the words barely audible as they left her lips.

* * *

The next time she heard of Fenrir, he was an alien to her. All the things he'd done... he was proud of doing... it made her blood boil. No, she didn't know this... creature. She had never known.

But she wasn't the same, either. She'd learned from her mistakes. The heart muscle, when hurt, only heals by scar tissue, which doesn't work properly anymore. She'd learned her lesson; she wouldn't let herself get into the same situation ever again.

Werewolves... she despised them. From the bottom of her heart. The monster that had bit Fenrir. The monster that had overcome Fenrir, changing him into the thing he'd become. The monsters that Fenrir himself had been spreading. And the infection was growing.

She'd sworn to herself that she'd try to stop it. She'd got a job at the Ministry of Magic, hoping to work her way up to a position where she'd have the power to alter laws. And the first thing she'd do would be ridding the world of Werewolves and similar hybrids. They were a danger of society, as well as a detrimental factor of the economy and country statistics as a whole.

Wolf and human. On their own, they are acceptable. But together, they form another mixture that doesn't go together. Dangerous, unpredictable, a variable in Dolores' world. Another experiment gone wrong.

* * *

_I began writing this thinking I'd make a parody, now I'm not so sure it is one - but I kept the genre for the pairing's sake. Who knows; maybe I've just started a new ship... Fenoll (code name C6H5OH) ;)_


End file.
